


What you deserve

by appalachian_fireflies



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftercare, Child harm (during battle), Collars, Depression, Dom/sub, Don't Try This At Home, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Painful Sex, Porn, Rough Sex, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 21:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7480884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appalachian_fireflies/pseuds/appalachian_fireflies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You need me to hurt you?” </p><p>“Yes,” Steve’s attention snaps to him, “<i>please</i>.”</p><p>Bucky considers this for a moment while Steve stands still under his gaze, trying to be good.  “Alright," he orders.  "Strip."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What you deserve

“You’re fuckin’ cheating again,” Bucky grumbles, tossing down a card to Hawkeye’s smug look of satisfaction. 

“Am I,” Barton says mildly. “How am I doing that?”

Bucky gives him his best, most effective glare, and flicks a card at Barton’s nose, which he deftly catches. 

“In Soviet Russia,” Barton says in a terrible accent, “cards play you!”

“You’ve got some balls, Barton,” Bucky growls, but only because he’s pissed he _still_ can’t figure out how he’s cheating. 

“Balls are weaak and sensitive!” Barton crows, and the coms crackle open. 

“This is truth,” Natasha says over the coms in an awful Russian accent. “Ready for your descent, boys.”

Barton hops back onto the controls, shifting to manual. “Coming in.” 

*

Bucky’s been gone for a long few weeks, and Steve’s waiting on the tarmac, smiling at their arrival. 

“What’s wrong,” Bucky says, stopping a foot in front of him. 

“What do you mean?” Steve asks, smile slipping for a brief second before he pulls it back into place with some effort. “Everything’s fine, Buck. Glad you’re home.” 

Bucky opens his arms, and Steve steps into them. Bucky looks over Steve’s shoulder at Natasha, eyebrow raised. 

She gives him an equally significant look. Alright, then. 

“I’ll meet you upstairs, ok baby?” Bucky says into Steve’s ear, then pulls back. “Gotta go submit this report.”

“You know you haven’t writ-“ Barton interjects, and Natasha kicks him. 

“Ow!” Barton objects with wide, hurt eyes. 

*

“He’s been like this for a few weeks,” Natasha says, wedging the cap off of one beer bottle with another then handing it to him. 

“Gradual?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of the beer and putting it down. Nat always has shitty beer; Barton’s been a terrible influence on her. 

“No,” she points at him with her beer. “Not this time. I tried to get him to talk, but-“

“He tried extra hard _not_ to seem like something was wrong,” Bucky finishes for her. 

“Coming down when you got here is the first he’s been out in days,” Natasha frowns. “He keeps smiling. It’s making me edgy.” 

“You figure out what happened?” If it was sudden, chances are something set him off. 

Natasha smiles at that, but it’s not her usual cocky, playful smile. “Yeah,” she sighs. “JARVIS, put up the clip with Captain Rogers from the fight three weeks ago.” 

“Of course,” JARVIS intones, and the clip is displayed on one of the glass screens. 

Steve is occupied with what looks like a series of fire balls, coalescing into a larger, dense point. It’s vague, at first, but there’s a shadow creeping up behind him- a man, moving his arms in the same pattern as the fire. 

Bucky feels anxious to act, to yell, anything- no one’s watching Steve’s back, and he’s out in the open, vulnerable. The other Avengers must have been occupied elsewhere. 

“It looks like it’s gonna,” Bucky frowns at the screen.

Natasha nods. “He figured that out.” 

“Then what-“

“Watch,” Natasha cuts him off. 

The dense point of fire explodes. Steve has his shield at the ready, ducks behind it, hits the ball to launch it into the sky. 

Except it’s not a ball, and doesn’t behave anything like one. It curves back to Steve, pulling through a food cart and a couple cars on the way. Steve finally sees the man, realizes nearly instantly what’s happening, and throws his shield. The man falls to the ground, and Steve picks up his shield, puts his hand to his ear to tap his com. 

Another blurry shape makes its way toward Steve, one much smaller this time. A boy is stumbling from one of the burning cars, dragging one leg as he walks. 

His entire right side is charred, and he’s pulling his body determinedly toward Captain America, gasping for air. All children, at least children in the United States, are raised to trust Captain America. Cap saves the day. Cap gives public service announcements about bullying. 

Bucky can already tell by the way the kid gasps and falls that he’s not gonna make it until paramedics arrive. Steve runs to him, panicked, hoists the kid’s head up into his lap to open his airways. He’s shouting into his headset. JARVIS must have switched him to paramedics to avoid distracting the team. 

Steve’s curled over the kid by the time paramedics arrive, and that very familiar set of his shoulders tells Bucky everything he needs to know. 

_It’s my fault. It was supposed to hit me._

“Stevie,” Bucky says sadly. 

“You’re not going to get through to him like that,” Natasha comments. “I’ve tried.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “I know. Thank you, Natashenka.”

“Anytime, moi yozhik,” she smirks. 

Bucky laughs, and kisses her on the forehead. He can be a little prickly. 

*

“Hey,” Bucky greets Steve with a warm, affectionate kiss. 

Steve pulls away, clearly warring between trying to pretend everything’s normal and not accepting Bucky’s affection. 

“C’mere,” Bucky says, extending his arms, and the smile slips from Steve’s face. 

Natasha’s right. Plan C. 

“I saw the video. With the kid,” Bucky says without preamble, tone shifting. 

Just like that, the façade’s gone. Steve goes stiff, shoulders hunching. He can’t look Bucky in the eye. 

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. “You not touching me ‘cause you don’t want to, or because you don’t think you deserve it? Tell me,” he orders. 

“I don’t deserve it,” Steve whispers. 

“Alright,” Bucky says easily. “What do you need?” 

Steve is quiet, looks over at his bedroom door like he wants nothing more than to get out of this, flagellate himself in private. Not bother anyone. More than anything, not get any reassurance he doesn’t deserve. 

“You need me to hurt you?” Bucky makes eye contact, direct. 

“Yes,” Steve’s attention snaps to him, “ _please_.”

Bucky considers this for a moment while Steve stands still under his gaze, trying to be good. “Strip,” he orders, “come back with your collar.” 

“Thank you,” Steve says, his tone so full of relief Bucky can’t let himself think too much about it. Focus. Steve needs him. 

Steve comes back out of the bedroom almost shy, naked and vulnerable under Bucky’s gaze, cock limp between his legs. He’s got his collar in both hands, rubbing his fingers over the smooth leather. He goes gracefully to his knees in front of Bucky, eyes down, and raises both hands with the collar draped over his palms, offering. 

“You think you deserve this?” Bucky asks, like he’s still considering. 

“No,” Steve says in a small voice. He doesn’t look up. 

“Are you mine?” Bucky asks with a hint of steel. 

“Yes,” Steve says immediately. “Always. Everything.” 

He means it, Bucky knows that. It’s terrifying, sometimes, how much Steve’s willing to give of himself for him. Bucky doesn’t deserve it, but he takes comfort in the knowledge that no one ever could. 

“Give me your throat,” he orders, and Steve shivers, tilts his head back to bare the line of his throat. Bucky takes the collar from Steve’s hands, pulls the heavy buckle tight around his neck, falling easily into the divot it’s been locked into so many times before. He wraps his metal hand around Steve’s throat, over the collar.

“You’re mine,” Bucky says firmly, “and I get to decide what you deserve. Got it?” 

Steve looks at him, and his eyes are a little lost, already slipping under. He nods once. 

“Good boy,” Bucky says roughly. “Get my dick wet. Don’t use your hands.” Steve likes specific instructions. He wants to get it right. 

Steve kisses at the lower line of Bucky’s belly, just over his jeans. He’s been out of tac gear for hours, just his t-shirt with the metal arm out and gleaming, his hair falling down to cover his neck. He brushes it back behind his ear as he leans down to look at Steve, who pulls at the clasp of his jeans with his teeth, then the zipper. 

“Attaboy,” Bucky praises, pulling out his dick from his boxers, giving it one perfunctory tug. It’s not his job to get himself hard. 

Steve presses a line of kisses to the shaft, worshipping. He takes the head gently between his lips and suckles, putting all of his concentration and effort into pleasing Bucky. _Sweet boy_.

Bucky grunts when Steve flicks his tongue in the slit, starts working himself down the shaft, nice and messy. Getting him wet, just like Bucky ordered. 

Bucky wraps his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, holds him there while he pushes his dick down Steve’s throat. He gags a little, and Bucky’s dick twitches. 

“Breathe through your nose,” Bucky instructs, and thrusts into Steve’s throat while his eyes water. He’s always had a sensitive gag reflex, even after years of pills and tubes getting shoved down it. Bucky pulls out and Steve gasps in a breath. He doesn’t raise a hand to wipe his eyes. 

“Good,” Bucky says firmly. “Go bend over the couch and spread your legs.”

Steve stands a little shakily, goes straight to the couch and bends over, head hanging down, legs spread. Bucky walks over and looks at him, inspecting. 

“You didn’t get yourself ready, did you?”

Steve shakes his head. “No,” he replies hazily. He has trouble with words when he’s down like this. 

Bucky spits on his asshole, a tender light pink, furled tight. He’s always so tight. Bucky likes to take his time using his tongue and his fingers to open him up. But that’s not what he needs right now. He rubs two fingers through the spit and presses them into Steve’s ass. He’s so tight around Bucky’s fingers he’d be cutting off the circulation, if he had any in this hand. 

“Tell me what you need,” Bucky orders, scissoring his fingers, chafing the delicate skin. 

“Hurt me,” Steve says, and there’s the strain of discomfort he won’t let slip past his lips. “ _Please_.”

Bucky spits into his hand, gives his dick a tug. He grabs Steve’s hip with one hand, so hard he’s leaving bruises, keeps him in place. “Alright, baby,” he says, and pushes his dick into Steve’s ass. It takes a lot of force; Steve’s resisting him, he’s not open enough to take him, too dry. Bucky pushes in anyway. 

Steve’s quiet, his entire body rigid, forcing himself to take it. He won’t complain, he won’t tell Bucky to stop. And Bucky’s made his peace with the fact that he’s a bad, bad man, because he’s hard as a rock where Steve’s clenched tight around him. 

He bends over, forcing himself deeper. Steve’s fingers dig into the couch, but he doesn’t make a sound. Bucky grabs the delicate skin at the nape of his neck between his teeth, sucking a deep red bruise there, high above where Steve could cover it by a collar. 

“I know you think this’ll heal, and no one will see,” Bucky says into his ear, fucking his cock in deeper, hearing it in Steve’s throat when he makes a quiet grunt. “But I’m going to mark you again, and again, till it sticks,” Bucky pulls out, shoves his cock back in, “so tomorrow when you go to your meetings everyone is going to know I fucked you all night long,” he tightens his grip on Steve’s hip for leverage, fucks him faster, “fucked you ‘till you cried and still kept fucking you. Maybe I won’t let you clean up, so you’ll smell like me and they’ll see the tears on your face.” Steve hates being humiliated. It makes him hard as all hell. 

Bucky moves his other hand up to Steve’s face, shoves his fingers in his mouth. “I want to hear you,” he orders, and feels a sympathetic twinge. He know how hard it is for Steve. 

Bucky feels how dry his dick is getting, but he doesn’t pull out. He keeps fucking into Steve, keeps his mouth wedged open with this fingers. The pained noises Steve’s been biting down on are audible in the room. 

“Louder,” Bucky growls in his ear, and Steve does start crying then. Bucky pulls out, shoves back in, faster now. He’s not going to last much longer. 

“Ah!” Steve cries out. “Ah, ah-“

Bucky groans, comes, pulling out as he does so the cum drips out of Steve’s ass, down his leg. 

“Baby,” Bucky says, tone shifting. He kisses Steve's neck, and he tries to pull away, but Bucky holds him there. 

“Whose are you?” Bucky says, stern.

“Yours,” Steve says softly, not looking at him. 

“Who gets to decide what you deserve?”

“You,” Steve concedes, and lets Bucky pull him up into his arms. 

“Shh,” Bucky says, kissing his face, supporting his neck with his arm. He wipes at his tears with his hand. “Shh, baby, it’s over now. You did so good for me.” 

Steve tucks his face in Bucky’s shoulder, hiding. Bucky runs a hand down his spine, warm, soothing.

“Shh,” Bucky says, and Steve hiccups into his shoulder. “Sweet boy.”

Steve shakes his head, stubborn, rubbing his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder. 

“You are,” Bucky says firmly. “You’re always my sweet, gentle boy. No matter what.” Bucky kisses his hair. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Steve shakes his head. Bucky sighs. 

“How much have you forgiven me for that I didn’t deserve?” 

Steve looks up at him, eyes bright, frowning heavily. 

“Uh huh. You’re just gonna have to accept it. You’re forgiven, punk.” He bends down and kisses Steve on the lips. He doesn’t try to force Steve to believe it wasn’t his fault; he’d be a hypocrite if he did, no matter that he can see it plain as day. 

Bucky holds him tight for a few long seconds, keeping him warm. “C’mon,” he says finally, and leads him to the bathroom. 

Bucky checks the temperature of the water before he oks Steve to get in. Steve sits gingerly on the bench in their shower; it’s something of a necessity with how often they both get injured. 

Bucky takes a minute to just sit down next to him, gently cradle his jaw and kiss him under the warm water. “Always my good boy,” he says, and Steve finally, tentatively kisses him back. 

He gets a dollop of shampoo in his hand and massages it through Steve’s scalp, Steve’s eyes fluttering shut without him having to be told. He keeps running his fingers through until the shampoo is completely rinsed out, then pauses to kiss him again, keeping Steve with him. 

He works up a lather of soap over his chest and back, kisses under his eyes where the tears have washed away, gets on his knees to wash his feet. Steve got a little hard during the fucking, like he always does with pain, and he’s still there with Bucky touching him gently, pushing his thumbs through all the little spots that make him feel good, relaxed. 

“Stand up, sweetheart,” he says gently. “Hands on the wall.” 

Steve does as he’s told, spreading his legs a little. Bucky makes sure the soap is rinsed off his hands before he spreads his ass cheeks, lets the water run between them. Steve looks irritated, dark pink where he’s usually a sweet, light pink. There’s a little blood, but he’s already healing, tissue knitted seamlessly together where the water is washing it all away. 

Bucky lets his tongue swipe gently over his hole, checking for his response first. Steve lets out a little moan, sweet and needy. His hips shift under Bucky’s hands, opening himself up. 

“Good boy,” Bucky praises, and moves a hand between his legs to jerk him off. He would make this last, but he knows Steve’s dropping, needs to come back into his body before he lets any more time pass. 

“Gorgeous,” Bucky praises as he keeps jerking him off, and Steve sighs, presses his forehead into the tiles as Bucky presses his tongue back into him. Steve loves this kind of attention, and rarely lets Bucky give it too him. Bucky feels warm all over with Steve’s sweet little sighs of pleasure, lazily thrusting into Bucky’s hand. 

Steve’s almost silent when he comes, just a few quiet gasps before he’s spilling over Bucky’s fist. Bucky turns him around and cleans him off with his tongue, finally turning off the water. He has Steve wrapped in a thick towel before Steve can leave his hazy post-orgasm bliss. 

“My good boy,” Bucky dries Steve’s hair off with a different towel, then himself. “All the way through,” Bucky rubs his palm over Steve’s chest, over his heart. “I’m so lucky.” 

Steve blinks at him, leans forward to kiss him. 

“I know,” Bucky laughs, “love you too. Come on,” Bucky leads him back to the bedroom, gets them both under the sheets naked. Steve likes the skin contact. 

Bucky wraps himself around Steve like he’s still small, tucks him against his chest so Steve can hear his heart beat. 

“You take your time,” he tells him, petting his hair, letting Steve drift off, listening to his slow, steady breaths. 

“Buck?” Steve says eventually. 

“Hey baby,” Bucky says, relaxing a little. “How’re you doin’?” 

“Good,” Steve gives him an affectionate peck on the neck, as high up as he can reach without moving. “Thank you.” 

“Anytime,” Bucky says, relieved. “If you really need something, you just gotta ask for it, I’ll give it to you.” 

“I know,” Steve says softly. “Thanks for not telling me to try yoga.” 

Bucky laughs, because that’s the Steve he knows. Thank God. “Baby, I gave up and did what your stubborn ass told me a long time ago.” 

“Love you,” Steve says. 

“Sweetheart,” Bucky sighs, nuzzling into his hair, hands trailing down his sides. He loves to touch him, loves every inch of his skin, his sweet expression when he's under and his pouting pink lips. He kisses them for good measure, then goes back to the nuzzling. “I love you so goddamn much,” he says, muffled.

“Alright,” Steve laughs, pulls away from the affectionate nuzzles that are traveling down his neck, tickling. “You got your time to be sappy.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, mock-serious, “who gets to decide what you deserve?”

“You,” Steve says, long-suffering, with a wide grin on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an established relationship. Steve has a safeword. (still don’t try at home)
> 
> The Russian is “little hedgehog.” According to google. I know that the misdirected fireball is basically CACW. What do you want from me, I'm just trying to write some porn for the masses. 
> 
> Please let me know if I missed any tags!


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